


... Comes Around

by alittlebriton



Series: Infinite Loop [2]
Category: Alias (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:36:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4484987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlebriton/pseuds/alittlebriton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to What Goes Around ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	... Comes Around

His fingers play on her ribs, delicate like moths, skimming over flesh pulled taut over bone. She is much too thin. She is still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

His hands push into her hair, following it down to her shoulder blades, sharp like knives, keen for his blood. Her body seems to have developed a taste for it.

As if he is trying to map her body, he continues, touching everywhere, insistent, addicted. It has been too long, and his nerve endings are ravenous to feel something other than cold steel. Somewhere above him she moans, the soft sound filling the room. He trails his fingers over that spot again. 

He lifts his head to watch her reaction. Her eyes are half closed, giving her a cat-like look that he has replayed in his head many times before. Her body rocks against his. He lowers his mouth to her flesh for the first time and tastes her skin. It tastes like salty oak, an earthy flavour. More mellow than her daughter, he thinks, before pushing that memory aside. His tongue dips across the valleys of her body, making trails that no one else will follow.

Her body starts to tremble, the tremors making her hair dance across her breasts. His hands move down to her thighs, and his head follows. Lapping softly, he barely hears his name on her lips when she falls over the edge, fists clenching the sheets. He moves his mouth up, past her naval, skimming over her breasts as her body quietens. When he pushes his tongue between her lips, he knows she can taste herself, and the thought makes him harder.

Sliding inside of her, he feels a second of clarity. Inside her warmth, the voices that cry out to him at the back of his mind go away, and he finds silence. Only the sound of his breath and her heartbeat can be heard. He pushes his thumb into her mouth, and when she bites down, hard enough to feel his blood flow over her tongue, he comes.

Later, they watch each other, not trusting enough to close their eyes. Too many people have come between them to win that trust back, given freely when he was younger and she was tougher. She opens her mouth to speak but thinks better of it, in silence acknowledging that they would only lie to each other. Broken birds, both of them, lying on rumpled sheets.

_When she was younger, she would count the geese on the lake near her house and make a wish when one flew away. She would wish for a loving husband to look after her, a house full of children. When she left Jack and Sydney, pregnant with Nadia, she passed a lake and all the geese took fright and flew off into the sky. She wished then for the strength to bring down those who wanted to control her. The strength had come to her in the form of a young boy, already turning into an observant young man. He had fortified her for the fight ahead, the long quest for the truth that only Rimbaldi knew._

_Now, when a goose flies from water, she wishes to return him to his pure state. There is no loss like innocence. She has seen everyone she knows lose it, bit by bit like Julian, or all at once, like Jack. It strikes her without irony that she has been the cause of that loss every time._

When he wakes, she has already gone, off to check on Caplan maybe. She had never shown a desire to wake up in his arms. Just like her daughter, he thinks. Sydney had fought him for so long, enraged by some comment he had made in Paris, and then she had thrown him against a wall in some alley and kissed him furiously. It was as if punches weren’t illustrating her anger enough, and she had to show it through some other physical means. He hadn’t said another word, except her name, buried in a dirty pillow in some cheap hotel. He had watched her eyes turn black and her breath grow ragged in silence, enjoying the effect he was having on Irina’s daughter. So alike. 

He wonders if Irina sensed his indiscretion. She has made no mention of Alison, but her daughter would be a different matter, he feels. He’s surprised she didn’t notice that he remembered exactly where to touch her – he recalled the places on Sydney. Below the ear, behind the knee – inexplicably, the hollow of the throat. All vulnerable places on very invulnerable women.

Sydney had left him faking sleep in Paris. She had looked him over for a long time before leaving, taking in every inch of his body that he immodestly displayed, choosing to sleep on top of the sheets. He could tell she wanted something to channel her hate into, and he had proved the ideal vehicle. She had left without tucking in her shirt, and in this un-Sydney-like gesture, he knew he had got under her skin.

He had been gentle with her. She hadn’t shown him the same courtesy.

He grins at the memory of Sydney’s weight on his shoulders, her brow furrowed in anger and desire as she rode him furiously to her own climax. Just like Irina, she could never end the mission with just a simple drink. Derevko women seem to be more physical than most, and everything ends in sex or death, or both. It suited him.

When he had gone to find her, putting himself violently on her radar so that she would seek him, he had a plan from Irina and a plan from himself. He had executed both to the letter. The mother had found the daughter and now there was an unbreakable bond, giving Irina the ability to live. Sydney would never kill her after all this, Irina had made sure of that.

He had fulfilled his own vow too, to the detriment of Sloane’s trust in Sydney, but he didn’t care too much about that. He had taught her the last lesson, how to kill and only feel the remorse of not being the one to spill the blood. Passing it on from mother to daughter through him. Like he felt her mother through her skin and her shudders in that bed, making him long for the coldness of Irina’s stare rather than the beaten look in her daughter’s. 

Hearing the sound of Irina’s footsteps, he turns on his side to watch her. If she goes straight to him, then whatever it was that she was sorting out this morning has gone well. If she heads to the cabinet to get an extra clip, then someone else is in trouble and he wants to watch. Either way, he will get something from her.

She slides her entire body over his, pinning him to the bed. She wants something. Her plans have gone well, obviously, but she seems unsatisfied. He does what he does second best, then, and takes her away from conscious thought, stripping her clothes and melting into her. After this long, he knows what she needs. At least, from him.

 _She knows, now, that she cannot change him back. She has twisted his love for her into something darker, that she cannot make light again. She knows that she will have to break with him, with her life, to keep her family. When she sees geese fly again, she will wish that he does not hate her. Another wish she knows will not be fulfilled._   


End file.
